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Dear S.,


This breaks my rule because we met on Twitter,

but the premise is the same: to anyone

I’d miss if I left Facebook, a love letter

arrives by flare from my sappy heart-gun.


I like you because you know about going off.

Your posts and poems take no prisoners

because fuck this culture with its side-mouth cough

when any woman speaks. The world needs listeners.


The world needs your poems, their insolence

of custom. What kind of century is this?

I imagine we’d have been burned, or dissidents,

in another time. Is that fact curse or kiss?


Just: thanks. A simple thing to count five feet,

another to share shoes, pack the same heat.


xo S


Love letters to my Facebook friends project